No one paid me any mind. The peers filtered in over the course of an hour, though I was sure court was supposed to have already started, and they all bent at the waist as Alistair entered. The soldiers, servants, and I dropped to our knees. Alistair didn’t even look at me.
Good.
The white doors across the room opened. The Crown, sundered gold sparkling in the morning light like fire atop her head, glided into the room. Five guards flanked her.
“Alistair!” The Crown opened her arms and smiled. “At last you find it fit to grace us with your presence.”
“Yes,” he said, bowing to her. “I should have done this sooner.”
No waiting. No hesitation.
Patience, I prayed to my vilewright. Pass over her as if you’re destroying something.
My vilewright rose, hungry and willing. The Crown swept Alistair into a hug. He sunk into her embrace, his tall frame engulfing her.
My vilewright yanked away from me, and I stumbled. The Crown froze. Her face turned to me.
Hana grabbed my arm. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, and I was glad that I could say those words, that they were still the truth.
My knife slipped from my sleeve to my hand, and I buried it in her side, below her navel and away from most organs. She shrieked and slumped. I lowered her to the ground.
The Crown’s eyes crinkled when she smiled. Alistair pulled away from her. She sunk to her knees, the front of her dress stained red. The court erupted and the peers scattered. The guards descended on Alistair, and he didn’t move. Blood dripped to the white floor, the red sigil of something new. He stared down at his mother.
“Stay out of this,” he said, needle spinning in his hands.
One guard didn’t obey. They leapt to the Crown’s side, and she grabbed their shoulder. The guard doubled over, a hole in their throat.
“No hard feelings,” the Crown said, spitting out blood and turning to me. The wound in her chest was half-closed and nearly healed. “I would have done the same, but you’re far too slow.”
“Am I?” I asked, displaying the knife in my hand. She’d go for me first. I was dualwrought, which meant I was the greater threat.
Her noblewright was already working. She dug her needle into her arm and gritted her teeth. My hand prickled, and the knife began to crumble. Now, her vilewright was busy, too, and I knew how long it took for them to work.
Destroy her noblewright’s ability to heal her, I prayed. Use Creek’s sacrifice.
My vilewright tore from me, and I stumbled. A life wasn’t equal to a life; for a wright to kill, even indirectly, it needed far more than a single soul. There was no equal exchange, and the universe didn’t use the same weights as Liran merchants. That was why wrought didn’t go around killing folks every day. It was why Alistair was better poised for the killing blow.
Alistair caught my eyes and followed the path of my vilewright. His binding had prevented him from doing what I had done, but he knew without my saying what I’d destroyed.
He buried the needle in her chest, piercing her heart, and ripped it out.
Her hand twitched, but her wrights were already busy. Even if they weren’t, she couldn’t heal anymore. Her needle clattered to the floor. Alistair stepped back.
Hyacinth Wyrslaine slumped to the floor, and the sundered crown rolled from her corpse.
The Wyrslaine guards who’d heeded Alistair’s warning fell to their knees and pressed their faces to the floor. Alistair looked at me, his hands as red as mine, and gestured to the crown. One by one, the peers knelt. I walked slowly to his side and picked up the bloodied crown. He stood before the throne.
I set the crown atop his head and bowed.
“If any of you take issue with me, you should speak now,” he said and nodded at the silence. “Court is adjourned for today. You will all be here tomorrow at noon. Understood?”
Agreement echoed around the room.
“Good,” said Alistair, blood dripping down his face in five long streaks and cutting across his smile. “Now leave.”
They were gone in an instant. Only Hana and I remained. I pulled her to her feet, and she grunted with pain.
“Let me—” I started but she shook her head.
“Did you even use this as a sacrifice?” Hana asked, pointing to her wound.
“A distraction,” I said. “I can heal it.”
“No!” She jerked away from me, words muffled by her clenched teeth. “Safia can heal it. I will report tomorrow morning, Your Excellency.”
She limped away, clutching her side, and I took a deep breath. That was fair. Trust could be rebuilt.
“Lorena?” Alistair’s voice broke.
I turned. He keened, dropped his head into his hands. His glasses shattered against the floor.
“I killed my mother,” he said. “I killed my mother.”
“Yes.” I crouched before the throne and wrapped my arms around him, keeping him upright. “You did.”
“She killed my sisters. I wanted… I thought it would feel better. Different.” He leaned his head against my shoulder and whispered, “Why don’t I feel better?”
“Breathe.” I lowered us to the floor, limbs tangled, him half in my lap. “It’s fine. You’re fine.”
“They won’t be scared of me if they see me like this,” he said, hands leaving a red trail across my coat. He’d gripped the needle so hard it had cut into his palm.
Take my ability to taste for the day, I prayed to my noblewright, and heal his hand.
My noblewright hummed. Gods in my veins, but he called his wright a monster.
“Who cares what they think?” I asked. “You’ve done what you set out to do.”
“You don’t understand. What you did to Creek is not equal to this.” His grip on me tightened. His nails bit into my ribs. “There aren’t many people I love, and one of them is dead behind us. What use am I if I can’t get over that?”
“And she taught you exactly what you did today.” I traced a pale scar running through his brow. “The factory where my mother worked was owned by Northcott. There was an accident. She didn’t die the first day. I cut myself so much and so deep to try and save her, and I would sit there each morning wondering why she kept getting worse no matter what I did. Do you know why my wrights and I are like this?”
His hands slid up my sides to my shoulders, my neck, my face. The sound of the world became a hum through his trembling fingers. “What does this have to do with—”
“I’m not done,” I said, and he rolled his lips together. “I kept her alive for so long when it was hopeless, and I should have let her die in peace. I prolonged her pain. Half the scars I bear are from trying to save my mother’s life when I shouldn’t have. Do you know how much it hurts to have your skin regrown day in and day out? I can’t remember her voice, but I remember her screams.”
Noblewrought sacrifices didn’t have to be blood, but Cynlira was designed to encourage us to hurt ourselves. It taught us, without so many words, that hurting ourselves was the only way to have power—that it was the only way we could control what happened—and then it blamed us for bleeding out. Long hours and long cuts. They were all the same.
A way to keep common folk from fighting back.
“I am good at using my wrights because I failed my mother,” I said, “but we are worth more than what uses society can scavenge from our traumas.”
He stared at me, eyes wide, and dropped his hands. “What now?”
Now, he buried himself in his research, and I saved Will and the rest of Cynlira.
“We figure out how to close or replace the Door for good,” I said. “The sacrifices we need until then will only be people we are certain are guilty. They confessed or gave themselves up. You won’t be remembered as the Red-Eyed Crown but the one who uncovered
the secrets of the Vile and their Door.”
He nodded and grabbed my hand, lacing our fingers together tightly. Painfully. Knuckle to knuckle and bruise to bruise. “You’ll help me?”
“Trust me, Alistair. I cannot lie to you, and I don’t want to.” I didn’t need to. Making someone feel wanted was far more effective than making up stories. “Sometimes you must destroy to create wonderful things. We can create wonderful things.”
They could fear Alistair like they always had and stay in line, the way children feared the dark the first time they slept alone. I would be one star among many. I could be one good part of the dark.
“This world is broken,” I said, “but we can fix it.”
Part Two
Teeth Like Stars
If they love you, they’ll come back.
Twenty-Five
It was an honor to work with the dead, but it took all night for me to break down Hyacinth Wyrslaine for her funeral rites. The overlapping sigils of Life and Death oozed white and green ink all night, the power of the binding leeching from her body and into the pool with her blood. Her wrights were still trying to revive her, their prickling existence twining about me like eels, and twice I stabbed her through the heart while washing her. They did not fade until I cut her heart from her chest and set it aside.
“What flowers will grow from you?” I asked her once I was done.
Creek’s ghost drifted through the pool to me, no ripples or wake at his feet, and said, “None.”
As dawn’s harsh light crept over Mori, shading the world red, I washed my hands and left Hyacinth for whoever came for her. The city outside the palace was silent and the streets bare. Only a few soldiers, all of them in the black-and-red uniforms of the Wyrslaine family, patrolled, and there were fewer the farther from the palace grounds I wandered. The Wheels was oddly empty, and the morning market hadn’t even been set up. The quiet ached.
It was unnatural. Back in Felhollow, there was never silence. Autumn would be spilled across the town this month in a wave of crinkling auburn leaves, and the houses would be golden with ears of corn hung up to dry. They’d be throwing back a single shot of shine from leaking snowdrop blooms, their hands sticky and cold, and celebrating the end of summer. Five winters I’d spent curled up with Julian and Mack before hickory fires, and I might never return again. I needed home.
I rapped at the door to the Chase quarters in Noshwright. “Julian?”
I needed home to still need me.
Footsteps shuffled toward the door. It creaked open, a pair of bright black eyes glaring at me through the crack. Mack’s tired face fell.
“Where’ve you been?” He yanked me into his arms and shut the door with a kick. “Jules! Lore’s here!”
“Only one undertaker left now the Sundered Crown’s dead,” I muttered and wrapped my arms around him. “You heard?”
“Course we heard,” he said, locking the door. “What happened? Basil said you were there.”
“Alistair killed his mother and made himself the Crown.” I pulled away from Mack. “Basil said?”
“They write.” He nudged me into the room and murmured, “They’re a nice break from Jules. He’s caught up in his father’s case.”
Mack nodded toward the paper-covered dining table, and a clatter came from another room. Julian always woke up slowly, stumbling about like a minute-old calf.
“How’s this going?” I asked and picked up one of the pages.
“Bad.” Mack sighed and twisted one of the gold coils on a loc. “Will knew he was getting arrested, and I don’t like that he let you make that deal. He’s hiding something. He’s not here, by the way. Took off to some councilor friends soon as the word got out about the Crown.”
“Thanks.” I squeezed his arm.
Mack’s distrust unnerved me; he’d been Julian’s friend long before either knew me, and their families had been friends for decades. Will could only do so many things to break that sort of trust.
“Lore!” Julian skidded around the corner and scooped me up, crushing me against him. “What happened?”
My skin itched at the closeness. There was so much going on and so much that had touched me. Julian’s grip was unbreakable, his hands gripping my ribs so tight I feared they’d bruise. I shuddered, and he pressed his mouth to mine. His teeth clacked against mine.
I kissed him quick and pulled as far away as I could. “Sorry. The last few days have been a lot.”
There was too much in the world, and too much in me. The whole of me was like a rotting wound, feverish and tight and fit to burst if prodded.
“Crown’s dead,” he said and brought his hand up to my face. “Father said his friends saw you there?”
I nodded and tilted my head away. “Alistair killed her. I’m fine. I was there, but I’m fine.”
“Alistair?” Julian tugged my hair over my shoulder and tangled his fingers in it. “Shit. You sure you’re safe there?”
“As safe as I can be anywhere given the deal I made.” I couldn’t pull away, so I led him to one of the chairs around the table. “We need to talk about Will’s case now that Alistair’s the Crown.”
“Course,” he said and sat in the chair across from me. “Can you get him off?”
I rubbed my arms. “My contract stands, but Alistair is certainly in a more forgiving mood than his mother these days. What have you found?”
“Nothing good.” Mack passed me a stack of papers. “Inconsistencies in wages, a few employees I can’t find any records of outside them getting paid, and folks missing no more than a halfan a year. Adds up to thousands over the years, and he’s already used most of it to buy up two of the old churches in Formet. He won’t tell us why.”
“None of it’s treason,” said Julian, fidgeting with the edge of a page.
Mack snorted. “He’s not paying people what they’re owed, Jules.”
My chest ached. Will was supposed to be better than the other councilors. He was supposed to be fair.
“He bought that old church outside Felhollow.” Mack set the papers down. “But with whose money and why?”
Felhollow had trusted him, and now Will had dragged it into this mess.
“I think,” I said slowly, “Will’s going to owe some money and jail time no matter what.”
Julian flopped onto a chair. “It’s all minor stuff though—labor violations and some iffy tax records. He shouldn’t go to jail for stuff every business in Mori does. It’s the only way to turn a profit.”
I winced.
“Just because everyone’s exploiting folks doesn’t mean he has to,” I said.
“If he got rich undercutting Felfolk,” said Mack, “would you be all right with it?”
“He bought an old town in Ipswit. Whole place is mostly graveyard now. Why? He’s sending guns to nearly every main city, and he’s not bought any ammunition, only received it from friends.” I flipped through a ledger detailing the exchanges. “No, he’s sent some to every holding except Drail. You know why?”
“No. He doesn’t know anyone down there,” Julian said. “That’s that Oakeshaw woman’s holding, and he doesn’t like her. Some disagreement between councilors and courtiers.”
Dripping-Rain-of-Life was in the southwest of Cynlira, as far from Mori as you could get, and where I’d have gone if I hadn’t moved to Felhollow.
“Julian, I love you and Will, but right now, I’ve got some disagreements with Will,” I said.
“Why?” he asked. “Y’all never questioned it before.”
“Maybe we should’ve.” Mack gestured to the array of ledgers on the table. “Will’s up to something, and it might not have been treason, but it’s not good. I think you know that, but I can’t lead you to the right answer. Neither can Lore.”
Julian groaned and rubbed his face. “Look, my father told me something, but he mad
e me swear I’d keep it to myself. It’s not bad or wrong, not like you two are thinking. It’s just dangerous. If this were Felhollow, I’d know I could trust you, but can I here? You’re calling him ‘Alistair’ and working with him every day? You never wanted anything back home, but now you’re amassing power like bees hoard pollen.”
“Of course you can.” I’d have said our relationship was built on trust, but I couldn’t. I’d never let him know all of me. I didn’t think I could. “I couldn’t lie if I wanted to.”
His brows wrinkled. “What do you mean?”
“The Sundered Crown left me a parting gift.” I tapped my lips. “She caught me lying one too many times and destroyed my ability to lie. I still can’t.”
She had left me with only the horrible truth of knowing myself and exactly what I was willing to do.
“Shit, Lore,” whispered Mack.
I nodded. “Stabbed me. Stopped me lying. Killed another wrought working with us. It all pushed Alistair over the edge.”
“She do anything else?” Julian asked, looking me up and down.
“Not really.” I shrugged. “I’m only around because Alistair wants another person with a vilewright nearby to study the Door. I’m on the same level as kitchen cats.”
“Necessary, fed, and occasionally kicked?” Mack asked.
“Exactly,” I snapped. “I don’t want to be powerful. I want to be safe, and I want Felhollow to be safe. I want my friends to be safe. This isn’t about power, Julian; everything I’ve done is about surviving. I came here to help Will and you because I love you. Because you’re my family. I would hope you’d think of me as such.”
I’d always been afraid of coming off as cold, but now I couldn’t find it in me to care.
“You’re family, but this is my father.” Julian hit the table. “I hate this. I hate we’re here and involved in this. I hate knowing it all. None of this would matter if my father hadn’t been caught.”
What We Devour Page 17
